“What if I told you I have the perfect candidate for you?” She batted heavily shadowed eyes at him and reached out a hand to stop him from escaping. Her nails glinted silver in the lights. He frowned. More like expensive talons than nails.
“Tell me tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She lifted a shoulder indifferently. “You were the one who said there wasn’t much time. And tomorrow might be too late, because the candidate has other job offers.”
He stared at her, considering. He wished he hadn’t included her, but he knew that she had contacts outside Truth, tarnished as many of them were. He couldn’t stomach any of the hangers-on he’d known in Cody’s last troubled days. Surely she wouldn’t dare suggest any of them.
“You know someone who meets all my qualifications? A serious prospect?”
“A perfect prospect.” Tía winked. “Ready to lose a small fortune?”
“You make this sound like you’re pimping someone,” he gritted. “You shouldn’t be so eager for a payoff, Tía. I’d be a lot more inclined to listen to Lillie Mae or to Brockton.”
Tía snorted and turned away.
“Who?” he asked, knowing that he had few choices and time really was running out. If he were going to be happily married—or at least legally married—before his parents returned, he had to find an acceptable wife. Chris and Alice would see right through him if he married in front of them.
Tía faced him again, triumphant. “My niece,” she said. “Esmeralda.”
Chapter Five
After the third time she hurled aside an outfit and looked for something else, Esmeralda had to admit to herself that she was nervous. Which infuriated her, because nothing unnerved her. She hadn’t felt so jittery and apprehensive since … since her mother found out about her first serious boyfriend, Toby. She pressed her eyes closed momentarily. Old news, Toby, and the pain no longer bit, but in a way, their doomed relationship had become the foundation of the life she’d lived ever since.
Defiantly, she went to the closet and jerked out a celery-colored sheath with a plunging neckline and shimmied into it. An hour until she had to present herself at this place called Witches Haven on Death Curve, and damned if she’d be late—or nervous. She’d met Rafael Benton and if he’d uttered a threat, real or imagined, she didn’t see how it could have been directed at her.
In spite of her aunt’s insistence that the opportunity of a lifetime was just ahead, she also didn’t see how she could work for a man she’d much rather have a fling with and forget. He’d unnerved her, those dark eyes boring into hers in the mirror at Tía’s. He’d loomed so large, his presence so close, that she’d thought at first he would slide his hands over her shoulders and pull her back against him. Not the behavior she’d expect, but there’d been a daredevil air about him, a hardness and recklessness that …
“Esmeralda Salinas, you’re full of it!” she hissed at herself, looking into the mirror, glad that Rafael didn’t lurk there to feed her lunatic fantasies. The man got under her skin and made her want him, but there was nothing other-worldly about that. And she’d be very unlikely to wind up with whatever job he was trying to fill, so … screw everything.
She put on her favorite earrings and dawdled over a necklace. She fingered her prettiest, a delicate gold chain holding an ornate cross with emeralds. A present from her mother on her fifteenth birthday, she seldom wore it, because she knew her life wasn’t what her mother had intended when she gave the necklace. Sometimes she thought of the chain as a curse, meant to embarrass and shame her whenever she stepped over the thin line her mother tried to draw in the sands of moral behavior.
Laughing at herself, she snatched up her favorite necklace, a clunky fashion piece with oversized amber and brown beads pieced together with leather. The colors went well enough with green, she supposed, and the gift from an ex-student she’d counseled always boosted her spirits.
She snatched up her purse and hurried downstairs.
Andy sat in a rocking chair on the porch, ear bud attaching him to his ever-present music, and shot her an indifferent glance as she passed.
“Off to the devil’s lair?” he asked as she reached the bottom step.
“The devil’s lair?”
“Oh, I know the townsfolk call it Witches Haven,” he said, nodding sagely. “The man who built it—twenty years ago or more, I guess—called it that.” He smiled and winked. “The parties, you know? But that dude that owns it now, he’s no witch. The devil, that one. Mad as hell about what happened to his baby sister. You might want to be careful, Esmeralda Salinas.” The words issued out in a strange tone that raised the hair on her arms.
“Why should I be careful, Andy?” Esme demanded, aware that Andy still would rather see her gone than here, although she didn’t know why he disliked her.
“I hear Benton wants your aunt gone—or dead,” the watchman said, still rocking the chair and swinging a foot. “I bet she’s glad I decided to come down here from Chicago with her. Good luck with the devil,” he added, and closed his eyes in dismissal.
• • •
Even in the broad daylight and looking for the place, Esmeralda could see how she’d missed it those times before. Death Curve started out as an innocuous bend, although there were speed warning signs with their contorted arrows. But the steepness and the “s” part of the curve took a driver by surprise, and strangers undoubtedly would keep their eyes glued to the turns. Up on her left, a hill loomed, a little higher than most in the immediate area.
Untrimmed cedar, so predominant in the Hill Country, stormed up the hill, quilting in dull green with patches of brown where weather or disease had claimed a tree. The growth was so dense that the hill itself seemed dark and unwelcoming.
The house on the hill—not at the front of the summit, but set back, with a dark rock fence shielding part of the view—was even darker. Unlike so many of the rock homes in the area, the house appeared built of very dark timber, treated perhaps to prevent decay, but providing a fort-like façade that made no effort to be inviting.
The drive itself began several hundred yards beyond what seemed to be the front of the property and Esme almost missed it, having to brake sharply and then wait as an annoyed biker scooted around her, scowling her way.
“Sorry,” she muttered, not any happier than he apparently was about the poor design of this place.
The drive climbed the hill gradually, the view on both sides consisting only of cedar and underbrush, and then she broke out near the top, onto a gentle, terraced slope dotted with neatly tended rock gardens and ornamental plantings. Off to one side, an intricate path of rock led into a series of fish ponds and gardens, all created from the abundant Hill Country stone, and she could see benches scattered around among the pools, with water lilies blooming in the sun in the nearest ones.
The change in scenery couldn’t have been greater, and she slipped carefully out of the truck cab and walked a few steps closer to take it all in.
Bet it’s something else in the spring, she thought, imagining the bluebonnets covering all the cleared acreage and lining the edges of the walk.
In the sunlight, with flowers all around, the hulking structure lost its air of malevolence. By the time she approached the steps again, she was the same professional woman who had never been rejected after a job interview. She might not accept, but she knew she could make Rafael Benton offer her his job, whatever it was.
She put one foot on the bottom step and stopped short at the boom of thunder announcing her arrival. In synchronized majesty, two fawn Great Danes rose from their places in the sun and turned dark, curious gazes her way. Apparently these were not killer watch dogs; they stood like stones after sounding the initial warning. But they were big, and just marching up to the door seemed a little foolish.
Before she could muster her nerve and do just that, the door swung open and an attractive woman, a few years older than her, peered out. “Luc! Chief!” she scolded, and the two dogs wagged their tails and
retreated a few steps.
The door opened, and the woman walked out, holding out a hand and offering a smile that bordered on annoyed.
“You must be Ms. Salinas,” she noted. “I’m Marie Thompson, and I run Witches Haven for Mr. Benton, who is waiting for you.”
Esmeralda frowned at the curt, overly proficient brunette, wearing jeans and a clingy top that made her look emaciated. “Waiting? My appointment isn’t until—”
“Twelve,” Marie finished. “I know. Perhaps I should say he is ‘expecting’ you, then, but he’ll be glad that you came early.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Always better to get business over with, that’s Mr. Benton’s motto.”
Well, don’t I just feel welcome. Esme followed the woman’s hand-wave into the house and looked around the cavernous living room as a prickle of apprehension came back. The woman wasn’t friendly—was she involved with her boss? Esmeralda had encountered the veiled hostility often enough in the past when someone was worried about a man straying. She’d gotten tired of it, in fact, and given up trying to reassure women who disliked her on sight.
“Please follow me,” Marie ordered crisply, keeping Esmeralda from trekking over to an ornate rock fireplace, with a mantel holding a collection of trophies, awards, and pictures of Cody Benton.
They climbed a winding staircase that took them to a second floor and went along a marble hall to the last door. Marie knocked, opened the door as slightly as she had opened the front door, and said into the crack, “Ms. Salinas is here to see you, Rafa.”
A muffled voice answered, and the door swung open. “Go on in, honey,” the brunette said, suddenly catty.
Thank you, sweetie. Esmeralda ignored the dig.
Across the room, behind a huge mahogany desk, Rafael rose gracefully, smiling, and she walked toward him, remembering again all the unease and dark feelings she’d had since running into him in the club kitchen.
He held out a hand, nodding at her as she arrived, and greeted her politely. “Ms. Salinas! Thanks for coming. Please, sit down.”
He sat after she did, and seemed momentarily at a loss for words. After a brief pause, though, he gestured at a nearby bar full of bottles and cut glass decanters. “Something to drink? Tea? Water?”
“No, thank you. Mr. Benton, my aunt asked me to come here to interview for some job she thinks I might be interested in. I’ll be honest—I have a profession, and I hadn’t planned on working this summer. I don’t think I’m interested in anything you could offer.”
Sparks danced in his eyes, chispitas of fire that burned. “Nothing?” he asked, dimples slashing his bronze cheeks. Then he shrugged and the slow-burning fire died away as the businessman he had to be took over.
“I don’t know that you’d meet the qualifications, either, but perhaps we should both look at the situation. I’m not offering a common job, and I don’t expect the applicant to accept a common salary. Because of the extremely complicated situation, I’m offering a salary—with expenses covered—which could close in on two hundred thousand. For six, seven weeks—maybe two months, tops.”
She stared at him, shocked. “You’re serious?”
He nodded somberly.
“Wow.” Disbelief still clutched her. “This isn’t a joke? I don’t have to hurt or kill or destroy someone?”
This time he shook his head, just as serious.
“Wow,” she said again, and just stared at him for a long time.
What kind of temporary position was worth more money than she could make in three years as a school counselor? For two months? She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it and not caring, then clutched the clunky necklace as if it could answer her questions.
What would she even do with close to a quarter million dollars? Unbidden the thought came: I could save Tía’s. Couldn’t I? But …
“I guess you’ll have tons of candidates to sift through,” she said at last. Why did she pretend she could win a job with that kind of salary? It couldn’t be clerical, could it? She could do correspondence and she was trained to deal with upset parents and children. She’d had training in suicide prevention and CPR. On a purely practical level, she didn’t consider herself worth a six-figure income for secretarial work. So what did the man want?
“I’m going to break all the rules and tell you you’re the only candidate I’ve considered so far.” He leaned back and locked his hands behind his head, watching her intently. “The job I need filled isn’t one I can advertise for.”
He might have seen something change in her expression, because he leaned forward again so abruptly he startled her. “Just to be clear, I don’t necessarily think you’re the best candidate. I’d need a lot more information. But I promised your aunt I’d at least consider you.” He paused again, then sighed. “Your aunt’s recommendation doesn’t help you. You should know that, too. I … we … detest each other. Unfortunately, sometimes that’s not reason enough not to deal with each other.”
She shrugged and shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “I’m a big girl, Mr. Benton. I don’t expect family to get me jobs. I never have.”
He rubbed a hand over his chin, and she thought he suddenly looked tired. Or sad. She couldn’t imagine why he would, though, and so she lifted her eyebrows and gave him a tight smile. “Before I give you any additional information, Mr. Benton, shouldn’t you tell me what this very lucrative position is? Because there are things I’m sure your money can’t buy.”
“I wish that were true,” he said, more to himself than her, his eyes fixed on his cell phone, though she hadn’t heard it ring or vibrate. Then he tossed it aside, straightened, and speared her with hard, dark eyes.
“My money needs to buy you,” he told her flatly. “I need to hire a temporary wife.”
• • •
I could have handled that better. Duh. He sighed and retrieved his cell phone, checking that nothing cracked when he’d tossed it. He skimmed the switch, and Justin’s innocent face peered up at him.
“Sorry, chiquito. That was about as dumb as it gets,” he muttered, standing and pushing the phone into his pocket. He walked over to stare out the window, looking out, seeing her pick-up disappear into the part of the drive hidden by cedars. She’d made her escape.
Damn. He leaned his forehead against the air-conditioned glass, hoping the smooth, icy surface would help him recover his composure. He wanted to buy her? Sure as hell not what most women wanted to hear from a complete stranger. He’d let his distrust—and dislike—of her aunt color his words. His father and mother would be horrified if they had heard him. Of course, they were the reasons for this subterfuge, this whole desperate shot at repairing Justin’s broken life. His parents and Doug Harper, he amended. Hadn’t that s.o.b. done enough damage without starting to bare his damn fangs and mutter he was Justin’s father and wanted custody? Parasitic, blood-sucking creep. The phone almost flew again, but he settled for slamming the desk with his fist, hard enough that it hurt. He could blow things so easily, not just as far as being awarded custody himself, but even endangering the temporary rights extended to his parents. If Harper was Justin’s father and found out that Rafael had entered a marriage primarily to look better in a custody dispute—and to placate his own parents—it would be easy to twist his motives to hell and back. Harper could claim that Rafael’s own parents didn’t trust him with Justin. That a man who would pay a woman to be his wife, wasn’t fit to be a father. And then his parents would face the attacks in social media and some business circles when their relentless belief in marriage before parenthood became a controversy again.
Cody had faced questions over that when news of her pregnancy first broke. A disgruntled Benton employee had accepted a settlement after suing the Bentons for creating a hostile work environment by actively encouraging marriage at company functions. A particularly vicious gossip reporter even had the nerve to bring the Bentons’s well-known views on marriage up as one of the reasons Cody embarked on her path to self-destruction. The Bentons h
ad embraced their first grandchild and gone on loving Cody, even without a husband in the picture. Sure, they’d made offers to help the father if he married her, and sure, they wished Cody’s choices were different. But he still could hardly believe the attack they’d suffered over their own personal belief in marriage. He could give them the comfort of a traditional marriage for Justin until the danger of predatory “fathers” claiming the child faded away. And someday he would marry for real. His birth parents hadn’t married, hadn’t wanted him—hadn’t even known him. Every child deserved better, and he could take the first steps to ensure that Justin had a solid future.
That meant he needed to set things right. He doubted Esmeralda would be interested in the position, and he didn’t blame her. But she was one more person who knew whatever woman stepped into the small town spotlight of Truth, Texas, would be an actress, a woman pretending to be his life partner. He couldn’t afford to have her spoil everything, especially given the danger to his plans her aunt already represented. He sighed heavily, feeling a grinding weariness that hadn’t bothered him in years.
He tapped a button and spoke into the intercom. “Marie, I need to know where to find Ms. Salinas. Let me know right away.”
He thought Marie huffed, but maybe he imagined it. He sighed. Marie was efficient and she needed the job desperately. She supported two aging parents. But sometimes he worried that she thought because there was no one permanent woman in his life, he was actively looking. She was the least of his problems, but a temporary marriage might even help assure that Marie knew he wasn’t available—at least not to her.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked over to look out the window. Roses and bougainvillea were a riot in the stone-ringed gardens below. The Hill Country weather wasn’t optimal for the decorative plants, but given his gardener’s devotion and skill, they flourished. The bright gardens lightened the house’s dark mood, and he couldn’t say he minded that. When he’d followed his sister here, the house already had its damning name, Witches Haven. But he supposed he hadn’t exactly helped soothe the locals’ distaste for the property.
His Temporary Wife Page 5
